The Seasonal Itch

“There are places I remember, all my life, though some have change,” Judy Collins sings with her characteristic soft, seductive voice while strumming her acoustic guitar. The needle point dips into the olive-green silk ribbon, hand-dyed by Mary of Brandenburg Storehouse, grabs the blue wool and then emerges out of the ribbon. The leather finger… Continue reading The Seasonal Itch

No Present Danger

A doe’s ear twitched. She shook her head, then dropped it to the trail. Her shiny black nose sniffed side to side. With a start, her head rose up. She looked to the south, then took two steps forward. Her tail stuck straight back, not up and not down. The morning’s fluky wind ruffled white… Continue reading No Present Danger

“Msko-waagosh ndizhnikaas”

Snowflakes cling to the trade blanket’s crimson nap. The woolen shell is more white than red. The black stripe is a pale gray, a nothingness hue that matches the firmament. The Northwest gun’s lock nestles against my right elbow, tucked safe under the blanket’s folds. Now and again an icy crystal bites a cheek or… Continue reading “Msko-waagosh ndizhnikaas”

Trees Don’t Grow Bigger…

Darkness ebbed to an overcast calm. Wool-lined winter moccasins stepped and paused eastward—the object of that crisp November morning’s still-hunt was the nasty thicket in hopes of bringing fresh venison to the pot. Thanksgiving of 1795 was a week off. An overwhelming urge to sit, to stay put, washed over my being, forty or so… Continue reading Trees Don’t Grow Bigger…